


My Lot Doesn't Send Rude Notes

by Stranded_In_The_Cosmos



Series: My Lot Don't Send Rude Notes [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Burning, Burns, Crowley Tries (Good Omens), Crowley didn't have a choice, Forced Torture, Hell is Terrible (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, What prompted Crowley to say 'my lot doesn't send rude notes', sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-06
Updated: 2020-11-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:02:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27416209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stranded_In_The_Cosmos/pseuds/Stranded_In_The_Cosmos
Summary: Crowley's lot do not send rude notes.
Relationships: Hastur/Ligur (Good Omens), Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Series: My Lot Don't Send Rude Notes [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2003059
Comments: 4
Kudos: 13





	My Lot Doesn't Send Rude Notes

**Author's Note:**

> This is just one of the ideas I have for why Crowley said his lot don't send rude notes. Expect more. Hope you enjoy!!

This wasn’t alright. Nothing, in fact, was alright. Not in the fucking least. 

But what was Crowley to do about it? He could always say no. But this wasn’t the Fall, disobeying wouldn’t be celebrated, or even tolerated. He didn’t have a choice, not really. They had him by the throat. 

Lyre, second class but not disposable. A siren, sung his pretty little temptations until they ate his human up. He didn’t make his marks, fell behind in corruptions. This was a reminder, a bloody fucking reminder, to not fall behind. He didn’t deserve to be here.

“Azzz much fun azzz it might be, don’t kill him Crowley. Thizz isn’t an execution,” Beelzebub said, looking rather aloof for the situation. 

“’Course, m’lord,” Crowley stared at the trembling creature in front of him. Wrists chained above his head, ankles to the floor, shaking with terror. And rightly so. 

Crowley wished it was at least a little private, for Lyre’s sake mostly. He didn’t deserve Hell’s eyes on him like this. They wouldn’t forget either. This was going to hurt him so, so much more than it was going to hurt Crowley. 

“Get a move on Crowley, we don’t have all day,” Hastur grumbled. Ligur nodded beside him, taking the other demon’s hand into his own. 

No more time to wait. He would just have to not think, disappear into his head and let himself do what had to be done. 

“Lyre,” Crowley hissed. “Oh, Lyre, what a disappointment you’ve been. You were doing so well and you just had to go and mess it up, didn’t you?” No answer. _“Didn’t you?”_ Crowley gripped Lyre’s jaw, just tight enough to provoke a sound. 

“Please, please, Master Crowley, I didn’t mean to, I really didn’t please-”

Crowley gripped his jaw tighter, shutting him up. He couldn’t handle any more of his frantic begging, not if he wanted to get through this. 

“It doesssn’t matter,” Crowley wished it did. “If you meant to or not. The result is the sssame. And what will happen is the sssame,” 

“P-please,” Lyre quietly begged. “Don’t,” 

_Don’t think, do not think,_ Crowley reminded himself, he had to remember not to. 

Crowley let go of Lyre’s jaw, moving his hand to his shoulder instead. The demon almost looked relieved, until Crowley’s hand burst into bright orange flames. 

-

It was over. 

It was finally, _finally_ over. 

Crowley was alone with Lyre. Everyone had left, satisfied with the performance. Not a glance was spared for the victim, not even a snap to unchain him. 

Crowley knew he should just unchain the creature and let it go. How could he face him, how could he force Lyre to face him? But he couldn’t, wouldn’t, not try to help. He couldn’t fix what he’d done to the demon’s head, but he could fix the body, somewhat. Hellfire stuck. 

Crowley tapped Lyre’s side gently, on a unburned patch of skin. 

Lyre stiffened. “Don’t, please,” His voice was hoarse from screaming. 

“I’m not going to hurt you. Not anymore,” Crowley said softly. “Not anymore,” 

“No more,” Lyre didn’t seem to believe him. Fair. 

“I promise. No more. It’s over, it’s all over,” 

Crowley snapped his fingers and the chains fell from Lyre’s wrists. He didn’t have enough strength to hold himself up, falling into Crowley. He cried out as his raw and burned skin rubbed against Crowley’s rough clothing. 

“Shit, sorry,” Crowley quickly took Lyre off of him and set him onto a miraculously conceived table. 

It was silent after, minus pained sounds that Lyre made at times. Crowley poured cool water over the burns, then bandaged them. It wasn’t perfect, but it was something, and he didn’t want to put the demon through anything more than necessary. 

“Done,” Crowley stepped away from Lyre. “All done,” 

Lyre sat up a little, staring at Crowley with tired eyes. 

“Is there anyone who could come and get you? Friend, something like that?” Crowley asked. 

“Alastor,” Lyre whispered. 

“Cool, I’ll get him,” Crowley turned to leave. Just as he was at the door, he stopped and turned back. “I’m sorry,” He didn’t wait for an answer, if there was one. 

He already knew he was unforgivable. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! If you can, leave a comment because they make my day!


End file.
